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Then fast the mother's tears did seek
X. All loose her negligent attire,
All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire,
And wept in wild despair.
Had filial grief supplied;
Had lent their mingled tide:
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan,
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran,
And well she knew, her mother dread,
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed,
Would see her on her dying bed.
Of noble race the Ladye came;Her father was a clerk of fame,
Of Bethune's line of Picardie: He learned the art, that none may name,
In Padua, far beyond the sea.
By feat of magic mystery;
St Andrew's cloistered hall,
And of his skill, as bards avow,
He taught that Ladye fair,
The viewless forms of air.
And listens to a heavy sound,
That moans the mossy turrets round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,
That chafes against the scaur's * red side?
Is it the wind, that swings the oaks?Is it the echo from the rocks fWhat may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round?
At the sullen, moaning sound,
The ban-dogs bay and howl;
Loud whoops the startled owl.
Swore that a storm was near,
But the night was still and clear!
* Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth.
From the sound of Teviot's tide,
The Ladye knew it well!
And he called on the Spirit of the Fell.
XV. Stiber Spirit. "Sleep'st thou, brother!"
—" Brother, nay—
To aerial minstrelsy,
Up, and mark their nimble feet!
Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam.
XVII. fountain Spirit. "Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, In utter darkness round the pole; The Northern Bear lowers black and grim; Orion's studded belt is dim;